


Entwined

by SPNxBookworm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts off as an odd case and a large number of dead bodies, turns into a sinister unfinished job as Sam and Dean find themselves in the midst of dangers they’d never expected to encounter. Set after 7.11 'Adventures in Babysitting.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Acknowledgements**
> 
> This has literally been the most hectic journey. In the midst of exams and dealing with computer problems, I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to get this done on time, but thankfully, I did. It would not have been possible without the following angels:
> 
> [cassiopeia7](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/). During claims, I was so hoping I'd get her art piece and boy was I on cloud nine when I did! You have been such a sweetheart and listened to me rambling and have been so patient with me. Thanks for putting up with me, love! You are an absolute darling. And your art work is absolutely stunning. *sits staring at it for hours* It was amazing working with you :)
> 
> [iamremy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy). She is literally the fastest beta I've ever had. And one of my most closest friends. Thank you so much for making this fic even close to readable, babe! And thanks for enduring my freak outs and worries about the fic. You are my everything.
> 
> [winchesterpooja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile). For once again, being one of my biggest supporters apart from [iamremy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy). Thanks for all the encouragement and always standing by my side. Both of you.
> 
> And finally the amazing mods over at spn_reversebang on Livejournal for conducting this every year! You guys are troopers! Awesome job, guys!
> 
> **Author's Note:**
> 
> Hey, everyone! This fic is set after season 7, episode 11 - Adventures in Babysitting. Gratuious hurt!Sam (gosh, he's my weakness), protective!Dean with a dash of hallucifer ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

** Prologue **

  
Sam struggles to breathe as he slips in and out of consciousness. _Dean,_ he thinks. He needs Dean. Dean can fix this. He can fix the crazy that's overwhelming Sam right now.  
  
 _Stone number one._  
  
Sam is aware of every throb of pain that assaults his body as he sits on the ground, head resting against the back wall. Dean says that the pain he feels now, it's different than when he was in Hell. Sam believes that. If anything, the pain he feels right now should be helping him. He digs his fingers into the healing scar on his palm. Once, twice, thrice. He digs hard enough to draw blood. This should be helping him.  
  
 _Then why the fuck isn't it helping him already?_  
  
Sam fights to stay conscious. He startles as he hears a loud crash. Squinting, his heart jumps to his throat at the sight of Dean lying motionless while the creature he dreads the most slowly advances towards his big brother.  
  
 _It's not real,_ Sam thinks. _But then why isn't Dean getting up? Why is he getting hurt at all?_  
  
“No,” Sam chokes. He can't be back in the cage. Dean told him he was out. Dean would never lie to him.  
  
Unless...  
  
“No!” Sam says, louder. Lucifer turns, grins at Sam before finally kneeling in front of Dean, a malicious look on his face.  
  
Sam's heart rate speeds up in fear. The only way Lucifer can hurt Dean is if he is still back in Hell, back in the cage.  
  
“Nonono,” Sam gasps.  
  
Black spots begin to colour his vision. Sam slumps towards the floor, vision blurring.  
  
He can't be back. He just can't. Dean got him out. Dean wouldn't lie.  
  
Stone number one. Dean is his stone number one.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispers as he feels himself starting to drift away.


	2. Chapter One

** Chapter One **

  
Another no name town, and yet another no name motel room. If Sam had to physically try and remember all the motels they'd ever stopped at over the years, he'd be sitting at the desk for at least the next five years of his life.  
  
Sam groans inwardly. His thoughts were drifting again. He brings his attention back to his laptop in front of him. It's been two weeks and some days (Sam can't be bothered to remember right now) since they left Krissy and her father Lee. Sam is optimistic that Krissy will get the life that she deserves. At least, that's what he hopes.  
  
Dean and Sam had spent the past two weeks hunting down any and all leads on Dick Roman, having agreed to work together. However, even after these few days, they'd come up with nothing. No leads, no plan.  
  
So now, they were holed up in a motel room. Sam was sat at the small dinner table in a corner of the motel room while Dean sat on the bed closer to the door, eyes fixed onto his own laptop. Sam sighs quietly, looking at his brother. He knows Dean's scouring every source for any information on Roman. To be honest, Sam doesn't blame him. He knows, and understands how Dean feels.  
  
Bobby is gone because of the dick, pun intended. The one person left, who they'd counted as a father, as part of their family is now gone.  
  
So Sam really does understand the obsession that Dean exhibits on wanting to kick Roman's ass. There's just times he wishes Dean would also take care of himself. Sam knows that when his brother sets his mind on something, he's too stubborn to think about anything else.  
  
Sam knows that Dean's sleeps only a minimum of three to four hours a night. He always hears the clacking of keys in the middle of the night, knowing Dean just wants to bring the son of a bitch down.  
  
Sam notices that Dean doesn't eat sometimes. And that's worrisome because food is quite an important part of Dean's life, and, well, survival in general.  
  
Sam just worries for Dean, knowing that loss is something they both find really difficult to deal with, sometimes Dean more than Sam.  
  
“Dude, you're staring again,” Dean remarks, eyes still glued to his laptop screen.  
  
Sam blinks, clears his throat, nods awkwardly and turns back to his own computer with a mumbled 'sorry'. Dean can obsess all he wants, Sam thinks. But he knows they both need to take their mind off of this, especially with no leads. Either they'll go crazy sitting in this motel room or they'll end up fighting with one another and neither is something Sam wants.  
  
He closes the page on Dick Roman he'd been looking up and opens up a fresh page on his browser, looking up weird deaths.  
  
Maybe a case might get their mind off things.  
  
It is silent for a while, as Sam and Dean tap away on their laptops, both on a mission of their own.  
  
Sam feels like he's reading the sentence over and over and not making any sense. He takes a deep breath, sitting up straighter. He frowns at the screen, knowing something seems familiar.  
  
He re-reads the first sentence of the news report he's opened up.  
  
 _It looks like this little town will never catch a break. Yet another man namely Howard Miller, age 52, was found brutally murdered at the Fairy Plaza Inn in room number 35. This makes a total of six individuals who have met their fate at this motel. Rumors of curses and hauntings float around the residents of...._  
  
“Howard Miller,” Sam murmurs to himself. He knows that name. Frowning, Sam gets up from his perch on the uncomfortable wooden chair and walks over to Dean's duffel, pulling out their father's journal. He ignores the curious look Dean's throws his way and sits back down at the table.  
  
He flips through the journal, getting frustrated when he can't find the name. He shuts the journal, setting it aside and racking his brains. He knows he's seen that name somewhere.  
  
“Why do you look like you're constipated?” Dean asks, walking over and taking a seat beside Sam. The genuine look on his face pulls a chuckle out of Sam.  
  
“Shut up. It's...this name,” Sam says, turning his laptop towards Dean. “Haven't we heard it before?”  
  
Dean's lips move soundlessly as he reads the report. Sam watches as Dean says the name over and over again, silent. Then a look of recognition crosses Dean's face. “Dad once hunted with a guy named Howard Miller. Some poltergeist or something. It was getting too hard for Howard to bring down and he found out Dad was the closest hunter in the area so Dad took off to help him. You had that like, soccer match or something, remember? Dad wanted me to come along but - “  
  
“But you stayed back to see me play,” Sam completes, smiling to himself. “Yeah, I remember the yelling match you two had.”  
  
Dean chuckles. “Well, I wasn't gonna miss seeing my brother kick some ass, was I?”  
  
Sam nodded, smiling. Then he turned grim. “Dean, this report says Howard's dead. Murdered in his motel room.”  
  
Before Dean could respond to that, however, Sam pulled the laptop towards him. His fingers flying away at the keys, he looked up the names of the other five people who lost their lives.  
  
“Sandra Winston, Paul Lester, Terrence Dale, Rita Morrison and Kyle Oldman. These names strike a bell?”  
  
Sam recognizes a few names. In the hunting community, having contacts and names of other hunters handy is a good thing especially in times of need. And Sam knows Dean is thinking the same as him when he sees the grave look on Dean's face.  
  
“Yeah. Like, three of them at least. I met Rita on a case I was doing alone when you were in Stanford. She is...was, a pretty cool person and definitely knew how to kick ass and take care of herself. I know Dad used to keep in touch with that Paul guy. I'd heard them talk on the phone every now and again. Kyle, I'm not sure but I know I've heard that name before,” Dean says.  
  
Sam grits his teeth. “Who could be killing hunters, Dean?”  
  
“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Dean says, though it doesn't look like he believes himself.  
  
“Does it look like a coincidence to you?” Sam argues. “Plus, I'm pretty sure I've seen the remaining two names in Bobby's pho-” Sam stops mid-way, knowing that Dean isn't gonna take that well. They're both still grieving.  
  
Sam knows he's fucked up when the colour drains out of Dean's face and he gets up to walk over to this bed. He picks up his jacket from the foot of the bed and walks out the door, ignoring Sam's apology.  
  
“Shit,” Sam curses as the door slams shut.  
  
 ** _Someone fucked up, didn't he? Poor little Dean. You always hurt him one way or another, don't you, Sammy?_**  
  
Sam jumps and warily eyes the opposite corner of the room where Lucifer sits on a narrow wooden stool, a big grin on his face.  
  
 ** _You ain't gonna get rid of me that easy, buddy._**  
  
“Not real,” Sam tells himself, digging his finger into the scar on his left palm, wincing slightly at the pain. He lets out a breath he doesn't realize he's holding when Lucifer vanishes.  
  
Sam then looks through his duffel and pulls out Bobby's phone. He goes through the contact list and his heart sinks as he realizes that Sandra and Terrence's names are on the list.  
  
This doesn't seem like a coincidence anymore. Sam rubs his eyes, tired from the constant concentration on the computer screen.  
  
Knowing that Dean needs time, he gets to his feet and lies down on his bed, deciding to get some shut eye until his brother gets back. Once he's back, Sam can apologize for speaking without thinking and then tell him about the other two names.  
  
Hoping that Lucifer leaves him alone for once, Sam falls into an uneasy sleep.

**~o~**

  
Dean doesn't realize how long he's been walking until he reaches the diner which is at least a twenty minute walk from the motel. Leaning against the side of the building, Dean runs a hand over his face. He feels exhausted. He feels angry. He feels a million things and doesn't know how to deal with them anymore.  
  
He looks up towards the sky, feeling guilty of his reaction. Dean knows Sam didn't mean to just throw in Bobby's name. But it had caught Dean so off guard that the only thing Dean could think of at that moment was getting out into the open before he broke something or said something hurtful that he didn't mean to Sam and making things worse between them. Neither of them deserved that. In some ways, Dean also envies how Sam's dealing with everything. Sam seems to have a lot more grip on himself than Dean does. There have been times when Dean wished he could be as strong, as level minded as his brother. Or at least know how to deal with problems and feelings without spontaneously combusting.  
  
Dean chuckles dryly at that thought. Figuring he should get back to Sam and apologize for how he acted, he leans off the wall and heads into the diner, deciding to pick up their dinner while he's already here.  
  
He places his order and supports himself by the counter, waiting.  
  
He wonders when things got so fucked up in their lives, not that they hadn’t been screwed up already. Dean yearns for the past, wanting the simplicity of just hunting and being a big brother to Sam. No Azazel, no Lucifer, no apocalypse, no nothing. Just him and Sam, and the Impala and a long empty road in front of them.   
  
“Here you go, sir,” says the cashier as he hands over a plastic bag to Dean.   
  
Dean snaps out of his thoughts as he thanks the man, pays for their dinner and leaves the diner. Lost in his thoughts he makes his way back to the motel. After rummaging for the hotel room keys in his pockets, he opens the door to be greeted by a strangled gasp of pain from the far end of the room.   
  
Sam is sweating profusely, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His hands are holding on his sheets for dear life as a litany of ‘nonono’ escapes his lips. Dean immediately shuts the door, sets the bag of food on the nearest table and rushes to Sam’s side, kneeling by the bed.  
  
“Crap,” Dean curses, blaming himself for leaving in the first place. “Sam?” Dean says, patting Sam on the shoulder.   
  
“No, ple’se,” Sam mumbles, forehead scrunched, breathing fast. “Stop!” Sam yells.   
  
Ignoring the pain he feels at seeing his brother like this, Dean shakes Sam hard. “Sam, wake up! You’re out!” Dean says loudly.   
  
Seeming to be deeply caught up in his nightmare, Sam lets out a strangled yell, hands tightening even more on his bed sheets.   
  
“Sam, stop! You’re out. I’m here!” Dean says, desperate, feeling helpless.   
  
“De’n,” Sam calls out brokenly.   
  
“I’m here, Sammy. Come on, wake up,” Dean shakes Sam hard one last time only to receive a hard blow to his right temple by Sam’s elbow as Sam throws out his arms on instinct.   
  
Dean crashes to the floor, head throbbing in pain. He cradles his head as he sits up on the floor, gritting his teeth.   
  
“Dean?” Sam’s voice is barely above a whisper.   
  
Dean looks up, relief flooding through him. “Hey, Sammy.”   
  
Sam is still breathing hard. “Shit, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to - “   
  
“Hey, it’s no big deal. I should have known that would happen,” Dean chuckles, brushing it off. He then frowns. “Sam, breathe.”  
  
Sam blinks, confused and then nods, trying to match his breathing with Dean.   
  
A few minutes pass as Dean watches Sam calm down. Dean then fills out a glass of water and hands it to Sam. “The Cage?” Dean asks, voice low.   
  
Sam nods, hands shaking slightly as he holds the glass of water. He then flinches horribly, the glass slipping out of his hands and falling to the floor, wetting the carpet.   
  
Dean reacts on ingrained instincts, immediately searching for the source of Sam’s reaction in the room. He then looks towards Sam and feels helpless yet again. Sam is eyeing the spot right next to Dean, eyes clouded in fear.   
  
“Sam?” Dean’s voice is gentle as he picks up the now empty glass.   
  
Sam gulps, looking back at Dean, pain etched on his face.   
  
“What are you seeing?” Dean asks.   
  
Sam shakes his head, shakily taking a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s, uh, nothing.”   
  
“Sammy, your face is white as your freaking bed sheet. We agreed on this. You don’t get to hide this crap from me.”   
  
Sam gulps again, mouthing to himself as his eyes are fixed to the spot next to Dean.  
  
Dean’s heart rate speeds up, worrying what could Sam be seeing that is disturbing him so much. He snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face, drawing Sam’s attention to him.   
  
“Sam, talk to me. None of what you’re seeing is real, do you hear me?” Dean says, voice soft yet stern enough to get through to Sam.   
  
“He’s…he’s holding a gun to your head. It has just one bullet. The other five chambers are, um, empty. And he - “Sam flinches horribly before regaining a little composure. “He keeps spinning the barrel, and pulling the trig - NO!” Sam yells, eyes brimming with tears.   
  
Dean immediately catches hold of Sam’s left hand and pushes his thumb into the scar, feeling horrible for hurting Sam.   
  
Sam gasps in pain, pulling against Dean’s hold.   
  
“I’m guesses the bullet actually went through me, yeah?”   
  
Sam nods, one tear slipping through.   
  
“I’m not dead, Sam. I’m right here,” Dean says, holding up their hands so Sam can see them. “Whatever he’s doing to hurt you, to mess with you, it’s not real, Sammy. I’m real. I’m right here. And I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon, you hear me?”   
  
Sam looks uncertain, between wanting to believe Dean and afraid to find out if it’s the opposite.   
  
“Stone number one, Sam,” Dean presses on the scar again.   
  
Sam hisses in pain before locking eyes with Dean. He then nods, saying, “Stone number one, and build on it. You’re real. You’re real.”   
  
“Damn right, I’m real,” Dean says, pulling Sam into a hug, feeling nothing but helplessness and frustration at the shit Sam’s going through. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”   
  
He feels Sam nod against his shoulder. He then let’s go, giving Sam his space.   
  
“He gone?” Dean asks.   
  
“Yeah,” Sam says. “Thanks,” he mumbles.   
  
“Don’t mention it. Now go freshen up, you stink.”   
  
Sam chuckles weakly. “No I don’t,” he says, swinging his legs off the bed.   
  
“Yeah you do, Sasquatch. Go freshen up, I got us dinner.”   
  
Dean watches Sam head into the bathroom. As soon as the door shuts, Dean allows himself to break a little. He wipes hastily at his eyes. Sam doesn’t deserve any of this.   
  
Dean tries to even out his breathing. It’s been a while since one of Sam’s nightmares affected either of them this much. Dean just hopes and hopes that it gets better. He’s barely holding it together and he can’t even begin to imagine how strong Sam must be to still be able to handle any of this.   
  
Dean walks over to the table and starts unpacking their food, angry at their situation, their life. Frustration fills every inch of him, at not knowing how to fix any of it.   
  
Bobby’s gone, Sam’s in pain and losing his mind and Dick Roman is in the wind.   
Yeah, their life is pretty fucking great right now. He just hopes that together, they’ll be strong enough to get through this.


	3. Chapter Two

** Chapter Two **

  
“So you’re saying that some fugly has a grudge against all of these hunters?” Dean asks, skeptical as he takes a large bite out of his burger.   
  
“Well, what other explanation do you have for hunters dying in the same town, _in the same motel_ , in a span of a month, Dean?” Sam argues, his salad laying untouched.   
  
Dean opens his mouth to argue back and then closes it, grumbling under his breath. “Fine, I get your point. But does that mean we just head into town with no clue what we’re getting into?”   
  
“We do that all the time, Dean. We don’t go into a hunt knowing exactly what the goddamn thing is, do we?”   
  
“That’s not the point, Sam,” Dean snaps. “Six hunters have been killed. Perfectly good hunters. What’s the guarantee that we don’t end up like them either?”   
  
Sam grits his teeth. “So you’re saying we just let hunter after hunter go there and end up dead, yeah?”   
  
Dean stays silent and Sam knows he’s right. “Look, I know this is dangerous, okay?” Sam says. “But if we don’t even try, then we’re just letting all these people walk into their own graves, Dean. I know we could get killed. But it’s a chance I’m willing to take if it means that we stop this from happening to anyone else.”   
  
Sam watches what looks like Dean having an inner turmoil. He knows that Dean gets how important this is, but he also knows how protective Dean can be. Sam’s pretty sure that Dean’s worried about him.    
  
“Look, I know that I’m not always....here. I know I’m fucked up, okay? But it’s not like I’m going alone on this. At least, I won’t be if you come with. Besides, we’ve been rotting here in this motel room for a while, man, with next to nothing on Roman. So why not just get this case done with and then we can hunt for Dick all you want,” Sam suggests.   
  
Dean chuckles. “Hunt for Dick? Great choice of words, Sam.”   
  
“Shut up, you know what I mean.” Sam meets his brother’s gaze. “Please, Dean? A lot more people could die.”   
  
Dean finally throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fine. But we leave tomorrow morning. I ain’t driving when either one of us could fall asleep at the wheel.”   
  
Sam smiles. “Sure. Deal.”   
  
Dean yawns, stretches out his arms as he gets to his feet to head into the bathroom. “Okay, I’m gonna head to bed. You are gonna finish your dinner before I even allow you to hit the sack.”   
  
Sam laughs. “Okay, mom,” he teases as he finally picks at his salad and starts eating.   
  
A while later, the room is in darkness as Sam watches Dean sleeping peacefully on the bed next to him. He wishes he didn’t have Lucifer hanging over him all the time. He feels exhausted. The most he’s managed to get is about six hours two days ago.   
  
Sam sighs as he turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling. At least he’s not seeing meat hooks hanging above him for once.   
  
**_We could fix that if you want, Sam._**  
  
Sam flinches as he sees Lucifer sitting at the foot of his bed. Heart racing, Sam jabs his thumb into the scar on his hand and breaths out heavily in relief when Lucifer vanishes.   
  
“Stone number one,” Sam mumbles to himself, looking towards Dean.   
  
He then turns over again to face Dean, and let’s himself relax.   
  
_Dean is real. Dean is here. I’m okay. I’ll be okay._ Sam thinks to himself as he falls asleep. 

**~o~**

  
Dean grits his teeth and struggles to get the car back onto the lane. Breathing heavily he looks towards Sam. “What the hell, dude? Give me some warning!” he snaps. He then sighs. It wasn't Sam's fault. Things had been peaceful until Sam had yelled and flinched horribly scaring the crap out of Dean.   
  
“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, but Dean doesn't miss the look of fear in his eyes.   
  
“Don't be. It's fine. You okay?” Dean asks.   
  
Sam nods.   
  
“Bullshit.”   
  
“Dean - “   
  
“Sam, no hiding anything. Remember? Look, I don't know how bad it is for you. Not unless you tell me.”   
  
“It's nothing, Dean. I'm fine, it's no big deal. Just...stop asking me, please.”   
  
Dean opens his mouth to argue but decides otherwise seeing the look of pain on Sam's face. He focuses on the road, making a mental note to talk about this again when Sam's calmer.  
  
“Okay. I won't. How much farther from here?” Dean asks, changing the subject.   
  
Sam looks relieved and opens up the map. “Not much. We'll be there in fifteen minutes, tops.”   
  
“You sure you up for this?” Dean asks, worried. He's been worrying about taking any case ever since he found out about Sam’s hallucinations.   
  
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sam says with a finality in his tone.   
  
Dean understands that Sam doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and let’s go of the subject. If Sam says he’s sure, then Dean will trust him, and have his back like always. 

**~o~**

  
“Why would the F.B.I. be interested in this case?” asks the man, craning his neck to look up at the two alarmingly tall men in front of him.   
  
Dean sighs inwardly, wondering if every cop in the world is taught to ask this question. “We were passing through. Got a call to check this out as it was on the way. Hope you don’t mind, Officer…?”   
  
“Gary,” the man says, cheerful. “Sheriff’s right hand man, if you will. Sheriff might not admit it, but we could use all the help we can get.”   
  
Dean is amused at the eccentric nature of the slim, greasy haired, bespectacled man in front of him. The man doesn’t look any older than thirty, Dean assumes.   
  
“How about I get you the coroner’s reports? Maybe you two can spot something we missed.”   
  
Before Sam or Dean can answer however, Officer Gary is on his way to fetch the reports.   
  
“Weird little guy,” Dean mutters, earning a chuckle from Sam.   
  
“Well, at least he’s cooperative,” Sam remarks.   
  
“He’s one of my best,” says a voice from behind him. They turn around to look at an aging man, probably in his mid-forties to early fifties. He holds out a welcoming hand which Dean shakes. “Sheriff Donovan.”   
  
“I’m Agent Winters, so is he, no relation,” Sam introduces them both as he too shakes the sheriff’s hand.   
  
At that moment, Gary walks in carrying a box. He hands it to Dean. “These have all the necessary files for the case.”   
  
“Thanks. We’ll get back to you if we figure something out,” Sam says.   
  
They both exit the police station, heading back towards the motel. Seeing as it isn’t far off, they had arrived on foot and head back the same way.   
  
“Sam, I’m on board with you wanting to do this case but was it necessary to stay in the same freaking motel as all these dead hunters?” Dean asks.   
  
“Trust me, that wasn’t my intention either. Apparently this is the only motel this town has.”   
  
Dean’s jaw drops in disbelief. “What? And you decided not to tell me that?” he growls, anger evident in his tone.   
  
“Would you have agreed to come along, if I did?” Sam counters.   
  
“Damn it, Sam.”   
  
Still fuming, and very worried for their lives now, Dean hurries up ahead of Sam, reaches the motel room door, unlocks it and locks it up behind him as he enters the room. He hears Sam’s sigh as he tries the door only to find it locked.   
  
“Dean, stop being childish.”   
  
“We agreed to not hide shit from each other, dude. And this applies to that.”  
  
“Dean just let me in please,” Sam says. “You wouldn’t have listened. Besides, it’s not like we have anywhere else to stay at this point.”   
  
“We have the Impala,” Dean mutters under his breath as he opens the door.   
  
“I’m sorry, okay? But I feel like we really need to solve this. I can’t explain it. I just know that we have to.”   
  
Dean takes a deep breath. Sometimes he wonders how he puts up with the shit in his life. “Fine. I get it. How about I go get some grub while you open up these files?”   
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agrees.   
  
“And geez, keep your eyes peeled, would you? We don’t need our names being added to the list of dead hunters,” Dean warns as he proceeds to change into casual clothes.   
  
Sam’s eyes are fixed on the now large pile of papers and open files in front of him as he nods.   
  
“Geek,” Dean teases as he puts on his jacket, snags the motel room keys off his bed and heads out the door. 

**~o~**

  
Sam doesn’t even realize that Dean’s back until he feels a tap on the shoulder. “Whoa!” Sam exclaims as he jumps at the unexpected touch.   
  
Dean holds his hands up in surrender. “Take it easy. It’s just me.”   
  
“Sorry. It’s just…” Sam gestures to the mess of files and reports and photographs on his bed. “Dean, this is worse than we thought.”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
Sam picks up the picture nearest to him. “That’s Kyle,” he says grimly, feeling nauseated. The picture shows the hunter massive welts and bruises painting almost every visible part of the skin. The picture shows him lying just inside the door in a motel room. “Whoever, or whatever did this, isn’t just killing for fun Dean. This is a whole lot messed up that I thought.”   
  
“Again, what do you mean, Sam? Get to the point,” Dean says, sitting opposite Sam on his bed.   
  
“I read the police reports, post mortem reports, and saw the photographs. Dean, these people were…alive. When those…when they were being beaten up, or rather, tortured they were alive. See the mark on their neck?” Sam points to the picture of Kyle in Dean’s hand.   
  
“That’s heavy duty wire. These guys were strangled to death after all this.”   
  
Dean’s eyes widen in horror, his mouth falling open.   
  
“What I don’t get is that if this is something supernatural, then why would it go through all the trouble? No body parts were missing, no weird symbols were found, there’s nothing to indicate this could be a case except for the fact that all these people were hunters,” Sam voices.   
  
“Sacrifices?” Dean suggests. “I mean, we’ve seen weirder.”   
  
Sam shakes his head. “This doesn’t look like sacrifices, Dean. This is different. It’s more…personal. It feels like that.”   
  
“How can you say that?”   
  
“I don’t know. It’s just…none of it makes sense otherwise. And whoever did this, somehow lured these hunters someplace else because according to the report for Rita, the motel manager saw some guy in a mask drop off her body in her motel room at like three am. Says he didn’t get a close enough look.  
  
“He’s going through all this effort to stay hidden. Torture these people, strangle ‘em to death and then drop their bodies back to the motel room. It’s almost like he’s – “   
  
“Trying to make a statement. Or maybe lure more hunters out here,” Dean finishes for Sam, a look of understanding now on his face.   
  
“Maybe there’s something in the old records. Like newspapers or something. I’ll head to the local library. Saw it when we drove into town. Maybe we’ll find more answers,” Sam says, talking more to himself than Dean.   
  
He gets to his feet, starts sorting out the mess of papers into neat piles after which he piles them into the box. He then picks up his jacket, puts on his shoes and grabs the box, heading for the door.   
  
“Dude, wait. The library can wait. You haven’t eaten in hours, man. We stopped by diners twice on the way here and all you did was hunch over your friggin’ laptop.”   
  
Sam looks at the bags of food on the table and gulps. “I wasn’t hungry. And to be honest, seeing those pictures kind of killed my appetite. Maybe later? We can reheat or something,” Sam suggests, pointing to the microwave in the far corner of the room.   
  
Dean nods. “Okay. Here,” Dean throws the keys to the Impala to Sam. “Be faster if you drive. I’ll go talk to the manager, see if there’s something he didn’t tell the police.”   
  
Sam nods and clutching the keys more firmly in his hand, heads out the door. 

**~o~**

  
Exhausted, eyes burning, Sam trudges the few feet from the car to the motel room, feeling disgruntled at his lack of findings. He had been hopeful for something, the tiniest little detail, but so far, after about four hours of leafing through all town records and newspapers for any clue, Sam had come up empty handed. He’d borrowed the last few newspapers which he still had to go through so he could do it sitting on a somewhat comfortable bed than a hard wooden chair back at the library.   
  
He knocks on the door, and judging by the look on Dean’s face as he opens the door, Sam realizes Dean probably hit a dead end too.   
  
“Please tell me you got something,” Dean pleads.   
  
Sam hangs his head in defeat. “Nope. Nothing. Got some newspapers back that I haven’t gone through yet but I’m not hoping to really find anything.”   
  
Dean gestures towards the newspapers offering to take a few. Sam hands some over and heads over to his bed. As he starts sifting through the first newspaper in his pile, Dean walks over and hands over a plastic box.   
  
“Your rabbit food. Eat. If we’re gonna hunt this whoever or whatever this is, I can’t afford to have your loud ass rumbling stomach give our position away.”   
  
“Asshole,” Sam takes the plastic container from Dean and opens it up. He absently munches on his sandwich and salad as he reads through various articles on the newspaper.   
  
About thirty minutes later, Sam puts his fourth newspaper aside, completely worn out. He just wants to get a little shut eye at this point.   
  
**_Oh come on, Sammy. Stay up with me. We can have a slumber party! Dean’s not invited though._**  
  
Sam flinches as he hears Lucifer to his left. He turns his head to find Lucifer stretched out on Dean’s bed.   
  
_Not real, not real._ Sam thinks as his hands automatically clench around the scar on his hand.   
  
**_Aw, come on, buddy. Don’t do that._**  
  
“Not real,” Sam mutters under his breath as he tightens his fist, digging his fingers into the scar. He lets out a shaky breath as Lucifer disappears.   
  
“Sam, you hearing me?” Dean’s voice filters through the pounding in his ears.   
  
“Huh? Yeah. Sorry.”   
  
“You okay?”   
  
“I’m fine. So, did you find something?” Sam asks.   
  
“I think. Come here. Does this look familiar to you?”   
  
Sam walks over to the table. He frowns at the picture of a run-down barn Dean is pointing at. He then spots the article under it. At the end of which is a picture of the inside of the barn around which are scattered a total of ten dead bodies.   
  
“Looks like a massacre,” Sam says, an involuntary shudder running down his spine.   
  
“That’s not the weird part, as disturbing as it sounds. On examination they found a corner of the barn with a pile of what looked like skin. And they found silver bullets in each of the dead bodies.”   
  
Sam eyes rise in recognition. “So, what? A clan of shifters? It fits with the skin and silver bullets.”   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
“But how does it relate to what’s going on right now?”   
  
Dean pulls over his father’s journal. “I remembered seeing something in Dad’s journal.” Dean flips to the end of the journal and pulls out a few old, folded pages from the back pocket of journal.   
  
“See. Dad was part of this hunt. Judging by what he’s written here, these shifters were causing trouble in town. Killings, people disappearing, shifters probably using them as their meat suit of sorts at some point. Apparently Terrence lived here. Tried taking on them alone but realized he was outnumbered and so called out for help. Dad had been in the area so he’d dropped us off at Bobby’s and headed out to help.”   
  
Sam takes the paper from Dean’s hand, reading his father’s notes himself. “Oh, God.”   
  
“Exactly.”   
  
“These are the same people that got killed,” Sam says, turning to Dean.   
  
“Which makes your idea of this being personal, the highest possibility on the list of, well, possibilities,” Dean explains. “Also, looks who’s left.”   
  
Sam frowns, and then it dawns on him.   
  
“Dad. Dad would be the next target. His last target.”   
  
“But he’s – “   
  
“Gone,” Sam interrupts Dean. “Which makes – “   
  
“Us. We’re the next ones, Sam.” 


	4. Chapter Three

** Chapter Three **

  
Dean grumbles under his breath as he puts on his F.B.I. suit. “Sam, I don’t like this.”   
  
“You don’t have to.”   
  
“Sam, don’t argue with me on this.”   
  
“Then what do you want me to do, Dean?” Sam asks, hands raised to his sides in exasperation. “Dude, we can end this. Besides, for all we know, this thing probably doesn’t even know Dad’s dead.”   
  
“That’s not my point, Sam. This thing waited years, _years,_ to get to these hunters. Whoever or whatever, and I’m gonna go with whatever, did this; it knows a lot more than we do. Which makes me think that we’re literally just walking into a trap. None of this feels right,” Dean rants as he forcefully puts on his tie.   
  
“If this were any other hunt, what would you do?” Sam asks.   
  
Dean groans. He hates it when Sam’s right. Especially in situations where he knows it’s dangerous for them both. For Sam. “Damn it, Sam.”   
  
“Exactly. We’d be hunting this thing down.”   
  
“Sam – “   
  
“Dude, you know we can’t leave without finishing this. We could literally be the next targets of this thing, which I’m guessing is probably a shifter. Someone that survived that hunt. That report said ten dead bodies, but Dad’s log said that there were supposed to be eleven but they never found the last one. That they had to bolt before they drew attention to themselves.   
  
“Look, I promise, okay? Once we’re done with this, I’ll do what you say. We’ll put all we got into getting Roman. Okay? We’ll do it your way. But this is something we got to take care of.”   
  
“Fine, but you’re not moving from here unless someone barges in here with a shotgun and tries to gun you down.”   
  
“That’s specific.”   
  
“Shut up, Sam. I am not fooling around. You’re not to move an inch until I’m back with something. Then we take this killer down together, you hear me? I’m not taking any chances with this thing,” Dean says, stern. Satisfied at the nod Sam gives him (while ignoring the ‘yes, mom’ jab), Dean picks up his keys, heads out the door to the Impala and makes his way to the police station.   
  
Adjusting his tie as he enters the sheriff’s station, he looks around, hoping to spot Gary.   
  
“Oh, hello there, Agent. Didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”   
  
Dean turns around to see Gary exiting the sheriff’s cabin. Smiling, Dean shakes Gary’s hand. “Yeah. There’s this old case that our department is interested in, that could link to these murders. Sorry, can’t really say much more than that. I was hoping you guys still had old case records.”   
  
“Sure, I could look for ‘em. What’s this old case you looking for?”   
  
“Quite a few years back. Bunch of dead bodies in that barn on the edge of town. Ring a bell?”   
  
“Oh!” Gary exclaims, a look of excitement in his eyes that slightly unnerves Dean. As far as he’s experienced, he’s never seen anyone respond to murder with enthusiasm. Not a sane human being anyway.   
  
Gary seems to sense that and quickly amends his reaction. “Sorry. I wasn’t working here when that happened but the case has always interested me. It has been the talk of the town for years because we never found who did it. It definitely wasn’t a pretty sight.”   
  
Dean taps his feet, growing slightly impatient. He nods as he purses his lips. “Yeah, I bet it wasn’t. Anyway, you have any records on it?”   
  
“Actually, yes. Though you’ll kind of have to…boy this is embarrassing.”   
  
“What?” Dean asks, trying to keep his cool. He just wants to get the information and leave. The article hadn’t listed names of the people that died. Though the shifters had taken form of people in the town, they were hoping to find some sort of connection with the identities assumed.   
  
It was a thin lead, but the only one they had.   
  
“Like I said, the case really intrigues me. I’ve had the case files for the last month or so since all they did was eat up dust in storage. So, the records are back at my place a few blocks from here.”   
  
Dean immediately gestures towards the exit. “Then let’s head there.”  
  
“Sure you don’t wanna wait here?”   
  
Dean shakes his head. “I’d wait but we’re kind of on a time crunch here, pal.”   
  
“Okie dokes,” says Gary.   
  
Dean walks over to the Impala, smirking as Gary looks at the car in awe. “Dang, sweet ride.”   
  
Dean chuckles. “Thanks. You want to hop in or…”   
  
“Nah. I’ll drive my rust bucket over there,” he says, pointing to a beaten up car a few feet away from the Impala. “I need to get some work done on the way back to the station anyway.”   
  
Dean watches Gary trot over to his car and shakes his head in amusement. He sends a text over to Sam to let his brother know where he’s headed. He then follows Gary for a few minutes until they reach a small, cozy looking house. It reminds Dean slightly of his home back in Lawrence, and he smiles sadly as he turns off the ignition and puts the car in park.   
  
He steps out of the car, and frowns when Gary is nowhere to be seen.   
  
“Gar – Argh!” Dean yells as a pounding pain rocks through his skull. He falls to his knees, clutching the back of his head and trying to fight the will to pass out.   
  
“And they said you Winchesters were smart,” Dean hears Gary say.   
  
Dean falls to his side, losing his battle with his consciousness.   
  
“Sammy,” he whispers, hoping against hope that Sam doesn’t come looking for him. Because his brother’s going to be walking right into a trap if he does.   
  
His last image is the look of psychotic glee on Gary’s face as his eyelids droop and he fades away. 

**~o~**

  
Sam bites nervously on his nails as he calls Dean for the fourteenth time. It isn’t like his brother to ignore his calls. It isn’t like his brother to not be back for so long. It’s been three hours. The job should have taken him about thirty minutes at the most.   
  
“Damn it, Dean, pick up your fucking phone,” Sam mutters.   
  
**_Someone’s a little fidgety._**  
  
“Shut up,” Sam snarls, looking in Lucifer’s direction. He does not have time for this.   
  
He reads over the text Dean sent him.   
  
**Heading over 2 Off. Garys place 4 old case files. Vl head back in a few mins. –D**  
  
It had been a total of sixty fucking minutes since Dean sent that.   
  
**_Maybe he went after the shifter alone, Sammy. Maybe he didn’t trust you to keep your head._**  
  
“Shut up. Shut up!” Sam yells. Breathing heavily, Sam forces his fingers into the cut on his hand, hard enough to draw blood. Feeling less tensed as Lucifer disappears, Sam picks up his jacket and heads out the door, hoping his brother is all right. 

**~o~**

  
“Shit,” Dean curses under his breath as pain rocks through his body. His head feels like it’s splitting into two. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision. He looks around, in the darkness and realizes he’s in a dingy, dirty little bathroom lying haphazardly on the floor. A strong, foul smell assaults his nose making him want to gag and he really hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is.  
  
He tries to sit up and realizes his hands and feet have been tied up. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”   
  
“Nah, I wish I was,” says a familiar voice from outside the door.   
  
Dean’s heart rate picks up. He knows that voice. And he also knows that it’s not possible for this person to be topside.   
  
“What the hell?!” Dean exclaims, coughing as he breathes in dust.   
  
“Smart right?” says the voice on the other side. “Gary’s been dead a while. Just look in that bathtub behind you if you ever manage to get up. I tie a mean knot though.”   
  
_That explains the smell,_ Dean thinks. He tries to move against the ropes binding him and sighs. The guy wasn’t lying. They’re definitely tight knots.  
  
“You know, I was highly disappointed when I found out that John Winchester was dead. But then I looked up a couple of things and lo and behold, I had two other Winchesters at my disposal. Two people I could kill, instead of one. And it took me quite a while to track everyone down. I’ve been planning this for years, Dean. And I’m going to enjoy it.”   
  
Dean growls under his breath. “Why the fuck are you doing this?”   
  
A sinister laugh reaches Dean’s ears from the closed (probably locked) bathroom door. “Your father along with those pieces of scum executed my whole family, Dean. I was a kid. With a family. I lost everything in that night. I was a normal kid. Kept my nose clean. Acted human. Even had a dumbass job. Didn’t draw too much attention to myself. I come home to find police tape and police cars around the barn. Sneak in through a loose wooden piece in the back of the barn and see nothing but dead bodies.”   
  
Dean licks his lips. This is getting even more complicated than he’d predicted. “Your family was killing people. Robbing homes, harassing other people in town.”   
  
“I don’t care!” yells the voice.   
  
Dean flinches as he hears a loud thud against the door.   
  
“This town needs a little trouble, Dean,” says the voice, glee in his tone.  
  
Dean shudders hearing the menace and downright insanity lacing the shifter’s tone. He knows there’s no reasoning with the guy.   
  
“This town would have crumbled to dust with dead skeletons in every home if we hadn’t been around to spice it up a bit. Filled with nothing but jealousy. The rich kept to themselves. The poor barely made it by. And the rest just minded their own business. You may think my family was screwed up, Dean. But if you look up the names of people that my family killed, you’ll see we only killed the guilty. People who knew they had something to hide. People who didn’t uphold the law.   
  
“The cops weren’t doing anything, so my family just provided a little community service. And we only robbed the rich. They have too much money on their hands anyway. We needed to get by, didn’t we?”   
  
Dean stays silent, not knowing how to respond. Everything just seems really fucked up right now. His senses turn on high alert, however as the doorbell rings.   
  
“Ok then, Dean. I will come back for you later. At first, I decided I’d take Sam’s form and trick you, kill you first. But after I read his thoughts, shifting into what you guys think is the devil and playing around with Sam seems a lot more fun than strangling him with a wire, to be honest,” says the shifter.   
  
Dean struggles against his bonds desperately. “Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on him! Sammy!” Dean yells.   
  
“Too late, Dean. And don’t bother yelling. We’re at the farthest corner of the house. He won’t hear you.”   
  
Dean struggles desperately, enough to leave rope burn on his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”   
  
“SAM!” 

**~o~**

  
Sam rings the bell for the third time, anxiety creeping up a notch when nobody opens. He tries the door handle and sighs, finding it locked. Taking out his lock pick kit, Sam works fast and soon has the door open.  
  
Sam knows he’s probably walking into a trap, but he’s willing to take the chance if it means he can find Dean. He pulls out a silver knife and slowly walks in. He checks out the living room, kitchen, store cupboard and anything else he can find.  
  
He’s about to head upstairs when his eye spots Dean’s gun on a table near an open door. Frowning, Sam walks up to it. _This is definitely Dean’s gun,_ Sam thinks. He peers in through the open door. He absently puts the gun back onto the table and nudges open the door with his knife.   
  
“Basement,” Sam mutters. _Looks like the best place to set a trap,_ Sam thinks. Wondering how they get themselves into these situations, Sam hurries down the stairs.   
  
His mouth falls open by what he’s met with. He sees large pictures of all the hunters nailed to the wall in front of him, all having large red crosses on their faces. A picture of John lies third in line, the only one without a cross.   
  
Part of Sam wonders how their culprit managed to snag pictures of the hunters.   
  
Newspaper reports of weird killings, coordinates, small parts of maps litter around the photos joined by strings to one another.   
  
_Tracking,_ Sam determines. “He was tracking the hunters.”   
  
“Holy shit,” Sam mutters under his breath. He feels a sense of urgency. This killer is more than prepared. He starts to back up and head for the stairs. As he turns around, a sharp blow to his jaw sends him crashing to the ground, his knife clattering away from him.   
  
He looks up and feels like he’s in his worst nightmare.   
  
“You know, Sam. This is probably the best game I’ve played yet.”   
  
“You’re not real,” Sam chokes as he shakily gets to his feet.  
  
Sam watches in fear as Lucifer mocks him, mouthing Sam’s words. “Sam, I’m perfectly real. Didn’t I say this the best thing I’ve done till date?”   
  
Sam takes a deep breath, taking one step back for every step Lucifer takes forward. Sam jabs his thumb into his scar, breathing fast when Lucifer doesn’t disappear.   
  
“Not working, is it?”   
  
“Not real,” Sam tells himself, as he backs up into the wall he’d previously been looking at.   
  
“Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun,” says Lucifer, his tone sinister. He then walks over and picks up Sam’s discarded knife. “Let’s see how well you can fight.”   
  
Without warning, Lucifer strides up to Sam, slashing at his torso. Sam gasps and only barely makes it out of the way. He grunts in pain as the knife managed to cut through his shirt and leave a large shallow cut on his chest.   
  
“Still think I’m not real, Sam?” Lucifer snarls.   
  
Sam’s eyes blur with tears as he desperately tries to dodge Lucifer’s attacks. The devil is relentless as he twirls the blade skillfully and slashes and jabs at every opening he sees. Numerous cuts make themselves known on Sam.   
  
He was out. Dean told him he was out. Dean is real. Lucifer isn’t.   
  
_Then why does this pain feel the same,_ a small part of Sam wonders.   
  
Sam staggers to the opposite side of the room, trying to regain his bearings. He takes a deep breath. “You’re not real. None of this is!”   
  
Sam charges towards Lucifer, catching him off guard. He knocks the knife out of his hand and punches him across the jaw.  
  
“Oh, ho. You shouldn’t have done that, Sam.”   
  
A swift kick to his chest sends Sam sprawling to the floor, wheezing. A torrent of blows rain down on him as Lucifer straddles him, punching every inch he can access.   
  
Sam desperately tries to block them, his resolve wavering. If this is real, then there’s no point fighting. It seems real. Sam can’t differentiate the pain anymore. He can’t make sense of what’s right.   
  
And what hurts him the most is that if this is real, Dean isn’t.   
  
He stops defending himself and lets it happen. He grunts in pain at each blow, for once, wishing it to never stop. This is better than going through the false reality of living with Dean, of mourning Bobby.    
  
He’s had enough. He’s not going to try anymore. He’s still in the cage. He’s still suffering. He knows Dean wouldn’t risk letting Lucifer out again to save him. He understands that and he doesn’t blame Dean at all.   
  
“Dean,” he chokes. He just hopes that wherever Dean is, he’s okay. That he has a normal life.   
  
“Sam!”   
  
“Sammy!”   
  
Sam hears through the fog of pain.   
  
For a second, the punches stop. Sam turns his head painfully towards the stairs as he hears a loud yell of pain, following which Dean crashes down the stairs to lay still at the foot of the stairwell, his gun clattering a few feet away from him.   
  
“Well, well. Look who made it to the party,” says Lucifer.   
  
Sam frowns as Lucifer gets to his feet. He then looks at Sam. “You know what, Sam? I have a better plan. I am gonna kill him. Right in front of you. And then I’ll take care of your sorry ass.”   
  
Sam’s heart rate speeds up. Real or not, that’s Dean. Any form of Dean getting killed is not something Sam would ever care to witness.   
  
“Leave him alone,” Sam croaks, turning onto his side.   
  
He cries out in pain when the heel of Lucifer’s shoes connects with his abdomen.  He struggles to breathe against the sharp pain.  
  
“That’s it, Sammy. Don’t move. It’ll only be a second.”   
  
Sam watches in horror as Lucifer walks over to pick up Sam’s blade. He feels helpless as he watches Lucifer walk slowly, tantalizingly towards Dean who still hasn’t woken up.  
  
“No!” Sam says louder. Lucifer has a malicious look on his face as he kneels down right next to Dean.  
  
Sam slumps onto his back, forcing is mind to stay conscious.   
  
**_Wow. This is a new low for you, Sam. You’re just gonna watch your brother die?_**  
  
Sam looks towards the voice and frowns seeing Lucifer sitting cross legged near him. He then looks towards the Lucifer walking towards Dean.   
  
**_I wish this was me, but this isn’t my planning buddy. Though I have to say, that new me over there sure knows how to work you up._**  
  
“Isn’t…your…planning?” Sam whispers, struggling to stay conscious against the pain threatening to pull him under. He instinctively presses against his scar and watches the Lucifer sitting next to him vanish.   
  
It then dawns on him. “Not real,” he tells himself.   
  
_Dean. Dean is real. Dean is fucking real._  
  
Sam struggles to get to his feet. The fake Lucifer’s back is turned to him. Sam spots Dean’s gun a few feet away from him and crawls to get it. He grits his teeth as pain assaults every inch of him almost making him black out.   
  
His fingers curl around the gun and he pulls it towards him. He forces himself onto his knees and aims the gun, just hoping that it’s filled with silver bullets.  
  
“You’re. Not. Real,” he says, loud enough for fake Lucifer to hear him.

Sam shoots twice as the shifter turns. One at his head and one at its heart.   
  
Sam watches as the shifter jerks as the bullets pierce him and then drops lifelessly to the floor next to Dean.   
  
“Dean,” Sam breathes as the gun slips out of his hands and his eyes roll up into his head, his body too crumpling to the floor.


	5. Epilogue

** Epilogue **

  
The air is chilly around him as Sam slowly blinks his eyes open. He quickly shuts them as maddening pain shoots up his skull. He groans, clutching his head and then frowns as he feels stitches on the side of his temple.   
  
When it comes to head injuries, they never mess around. Which means he was probably in a hospital at some point. But then why doesn’t he remember any of it?   
  
Sam looks around him and realizes he’s sitting in the Impala. He curls in onto himself as a gust of wind blows through the windows. He looks out to see Dean sitting on the hood of the Impala.   
  
It’s night time. Sam forgets his injuries for a few seconds as he looks at the clear starry night sky, the moon looking larger than ever, bathing the Impala and the surrounding in pleasant light.   
  
His memory is hazy. He scrunches up his forehead as he tries to remember what happened. He opens the door to step out and is halfway onto his feet when it all comes back to him.   
  
The wall with the pictures, the basement, Lucifer.   
  
Sam gasps as pain shoots up his body and his hand tightens over the door to stop himself from falling.   
  
“Sam?!”   
  
Dean is immediately at his side. Sam holds onto Dean as he helps him stand. Hating how he’s dependent but knowing he needs it, he lets Dean walk him over to the front of the car and lean him against the hood so he can sit.   
  
“Jeez, dude, you could have yelled out for me or something,” Dean remarks, opening a beer bottle and handing it to Sam and then picking up one for himself from the cooler Sam now sees near the left front wheel of the car.   
  
“Sorry.”   
  
“You doing ok?” Dean asks.   
  
Sam hesitates. “Honestly, I don’t know.”   
  
He takes a shaky breath. “For a while there, I…I thought I was back. I thought I never got out. I mean, that shifter definitely played it well.”   
  
“You’re out, Sam. I promise you that.”   
  
Sam nods, clearing his throat against the emotion he can feel building up inside him. He tries to change the subject. “I don’t remember anything after shooting him. What happened? You okay?”   
  
Sam knows Dean sees right through him but is grateful when he doesn’t push.   
  
“Well, I woke up from being electrocuted.”   
  
Sam looks at Dean in bewilderment. “What?”   
  
“Yeah. The bastard had the door handle of the basement booby trapped. I kind of got conked on the head the minute we made it to Gary’s place. The real Gary was dead in the bathtub, had been dead for a while too. The shifter tied me up in the bathroom, locked the door. Said he’d decided to take your skin and get to me but he accessed your thoughts and….”   
  
Sam huffs a laugh humorlessly. “And saw Lucifer and decided that would be easier.”   
  
“Yeah. Anyway, I got the ropes off with the help of a rusty pipe edge in the bathroom. Broke down the door. Saw my gun near the basement door and heard you. So I picked up the gun and held the door handle only to get electrocuted and fall down the goddamn stairs. Think I hit my head on the way down.   
  
“I woke up to see a dead Lucifer and you passed out. I took care of the body of the shifter and drove you to the hospital. It…fuck,” Dean curses, rubbing a hand over his face.   
  
“They, uh, they said you had four broken ribs, two bruised. Severe blows to the head and face, so you’re gonna have those bruises for a while buddy. And other cuts across your body. We were there a couple of hours until you were stable.”   
  
“Until I was stable?” Sam asks in confusion.   
  
Dean takes a few minutes to answer. “You had internal bleeding. They said it could have been caused by a sharp trauma or kick to your stomach. You nearly clocked out on me, man.”   
  
“Wow. Fuck, I…shit. I’m…I’m sorry,” Sam stammers, not knowing how to respond. If anything, he knows how screwed up it feels to be on the receiving end of such news.  
  
“No, don’t. It’s not your fault. Either way, I busted us out of there once I was sure you were okay. We’re gonna take it easy for the next couple of weeks okay?”   
  
Sam nods. “How long have you been parked here?”   
  
Dean shrugs. “Probably about thirty minutes. You fell asleep about an hour before we got here. You…you kept saying I wasn’t real, though I’m guessing you probably don’t remember that. They had you on some heavy stuff.”   
  
Sam bites his lip. “Yeah well, for a minute there I couldn’t really tell what was real.”   
  
“Then how did you know to shoot him?”   
  
Sam shrugs. “I…don’t really know. The…real, or well, the Lucifer in my…hallucinations appeared. And at that point it felt like I was seeing two of them. I did the scar thing I always do and he disappeared, but the one near you didn’t. So I figured I’d give it a shot. Either way, he was going to kill you and make me watch. Whether I believed that you were real or not, I couldn’t watch you die.”    
  
Dean purses his lips and nods. “Well, I’m as real as you’re going to get so I guess you’re stuck with me now.”   
  
Sam chuckles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”   
  
They sit in silence and sip on their beers a while. Sam looks at Dean and apart from a few bruises he sees, Dean doesn’t seem too worse for the wear. Sam doesn’t miss the tired look on Dean’s face however and he hates that he’s the reason for it.   
  
He switches his gaze to watching the moon, taking another sip from his bottle.  
  
“Hey, Sam?”   
  
“Hmm?” Sam asks, looking towards Dean.   
  
“Please don’t do that again. Don’t clock out on me. If we go down, we go down together. I just…I can’t. Not after everyone we’ve already lost. Not after Bobby.”   
  
Sam gulps as he blinks back the sudden tears. He clears his throat again. “I won’t.”   
  
“Thanks.”   
  
Dean sighs as he sits up straighter. He clinks his beer bottle to Sam’s, a look of understanding passing between them.   
  
Sam smiles to himself. Lucifer isn’t around. Dean is right here, next to him. His stone number one. And he counts that as a win.   
  


**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stuck on till here, thank you so so so much for giving this fic a chance! I hope you liked it!   
> Feedback is love! <3


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